Up Til Now

And the past 12 months have been no less of a whirlwind. I spent the summer in Chestertown as a waitress at the high-class restaurant at the bottom of the hill. I made good money, shopped at the farmer’s market, taught myself guitar, practiced humility and patience, and started keeping a dream journal and practicing yoga.

I stayed through the end of September, and then joined my family for the first wedding of our generation, my cousin Thomas. My sister flew in from California, the first time she’d been back in several years. My grandmother cried when she saw her. The wedding itself was simple and beautiful, and we danced late into the night.

I flew back to California with my sister and helped her move into an apartment, before joining my soul-sister in Northern California for a few months. We had many adventures in the mountains and redwoods, but the vortex grew too strong, and I separated myself as emotional exhaustion set in. I spent two weeks by myself, then flew back to Austin on the first of December.

I remember vividly my first night back after all that had taken place. I was excited by an artifact that had told me itself, “You have no idea how to use this tool.” I hitchhiked to Awesome Hollow from the airport for their weekly Creation Flame ceremony. I was several hours early, and after depositing my artifact on the mantelpiece, spent some time meditating, stretching, hooping.

The other guests arrived, and meditation began, and ended with a profound and prolonged OHM. As Kirtan singing began, a fellow next to me offered a shoulder massage. As he touched me, and the music overwhelmed my heart, for the second time in a long time, I wept. As after the sweat lodge, all the tension and sadness flowed out of me, and I let my tears take them. I felt such a sense of relief and joy afterwards that I barely registered when, as I was leaving, my artifact, a glass pyramid from Mount Shasta, fell to the ground and shattered.

I spent three weeks in Austin in the bubble of bliss and merriment. Joy at seeing my friends, meeting new people, seeing how far the energy of the SHIRE had reached even in its dissolution, and the constantcy of activity and life and evolution filled my days, though I was puzzled and slightly disturbed by the unfolding of the Austin Occupy.

At this point, I have become aware of how little time I have spent describing my romantic engagements. This might be strange, as during the first draft of this life story I noticed the pattern that many of my major life choices were made because I had been, well, inspired is too weak of a word, but yes, inspired, by a handful of powerful, beautiful men. Soulfully intoxicated might be more appropriate. Over the years, with each soul friend, I was propelled to new heights of possibility and devotion and would undertake newer and grander adventures. My time in Austin again saw this pattern play out.

I’m not sure how much more I can say, because I’m not sure how much more I understand. I am still sorting through the many emotional memories that, on one hand, have given me a greater understanding of my own emotional spectrum, but on the other, have closed me off to any further romances. For fear? For shame? For attempting to establish my moral basis without compromising my basic human needs? I’m still not sure.

In January I flew to Thailand. I spent 5 months on a permaculture project in rural Isaan, taking my Permaculture Design Course, and spending time atoning for my previous community experience. This time was, thankfully, mundane. Cooking meals, attending meetings, digging trenches, washing dishes, all took on a quiet satisfaction. I was alone in myself, given time to think and not think, to play music and keep playing, to smile without expecting anything. I read books, doodled the flower of life, and designed a logo. I threw coins asking the I Ching various questions and inevitably it would always tell me to “Keep Still.”

I flew back to America at the end of May, satisfied, still, and wholly appreciative of the lessons of character and practicality I learned from the managers and fellow interns.

I’ve been home for a month now, I just threw Mom a 50^th birthday party and paid off the rest of my student loans.

August 10^th 2012 in Columbiaville, Michigan is the date and place for the next superhero ride.

I plan to be there.

 

Return to Project One

Where Cape Meets Wheel

Eventually, the inner emotional turmoil manifested itself in a week in April where many pieces of my physical identity left me. I lost my license, my cat disappeared, half a dozen cards from my tarot deck fell out, and my car was totaled by someone else. When Stardust invited me on the next superhero ride in June in Iowa, I was ready. I felt exhausted and helpless. I needed to leave. After Gracklefest, our major festival event, I packed my bicycle, rode to meet Stardust, and we hitchbiked a thousand miles to Superhero Headquarters: The Possibility Alliance.

It took us a week, both riding and hitching. I began to understand what was meant when hitchhikers are described as “roadside therapists.” It’s amazing how easily half of the cars we got into were willing to tell their life stories. And more than 2/3 had the same perception of danger: “What are you girls doing out here? Don’t you know that people are crazy?!”

We didn’t run into any trouble, and actually stayed at some beautiful places, camping by the river, staying in a family’s lakeside cabin, a widow’s extra bedroom, an old friend’s roommate’s floor. I wrote down the name and story of every ride we met. I was in awe of Stardust’s ability to connect to every person we got in a car with, without judgement, just a genuine curiosity. I told her that as we pried a can of beans open in the alcove of a college town, pressed up against the brick to stay out of the rain. I felt proud of myself for being able to express such a simple and direct sentiment.

We reached the Possibility Alliance, and I met the Zing, his wife Tigerlily, their daughter Butterfly Girl, Infinity Man, and several of the interns, some of whom planned to join us on the ride. We only stayed for the night, but the brief glimpse I saw of the electricity and petroleum free farm enlivened me to possibilities beyond technology. There are very few things that actually limit our imagination.

When I became a superhero, it was like finding an anchor to the true world. Like I had been living in a cabin of imagination, watching my life through the window, but having no way to activate or engage. When I stepped into the life of a superhero, I did it because it fit my paradigm of a magical world, and I loved comic books. What I found gave me a what I needed most: connection.

My cape was my bridge back to a shared world from the isolated shroud of sadness and shadow.

I spent two weeks riding with a dozen other heroes around Iowa. It was everything I could have hoped for and more. The superhero strivings suggested a way to live in line with compassion, acceptable, and vulnerability.

At the end, I became vulnerable in the worst way. I crashed my bike, and over the course of several days, the injury became worse until I was in debilitating pain. I took a Greyhound bus home the next day. As I called to tell Mom I was coming home, she had called in tears to tell me my sister was in the hospital because her boyfriend had tried to strangle her. And when I arrived home, my Dad told me he had been diagnosed that day with Type 1 Diabetes. Zing told me as I left, “A hero’s journey begins at home.” It felt like I had arrived just in time.

The end of June 2011. That was a year ago today.

 

Story of My Life – Part 9

The Wood

The Hundred Acre Wood was the site of the SHIRE experiment, and things did not go as expected. I quickly learned I had no real experience in project management and was coming up against many challenges that I had little support in solving. Everything from chores to tasks to projects felt difficult or uncomfortable. I remember specifically voting against emotional check-ins, which I now realize was probably the worst possible thing I could do. I wanted professionalism, I wanted results, and I wasn’t willing to face the human side of emotions and needs that my friends and collegues all had.

Despite the difficulties, we managed to put on a several workshops, ranging from mycoremediation, to biofuels, to natural building. One of our members organized an entire Monsanto protest in front of the capital. We held events and hosted volunteers from around the country. For how angry and helpless I felt in my personal life, the project was moving forward. Whatever we did, it kept growing and inspiring more people.

In December due to a freak occurrence, I was stuck at home in the Northeast. During that time I got a call from the Wood.

“Superheroes arrived.”

“….what?”

“Yeah, people in capes and costumes showed up on bikes and they’ve been doing all this work. Fixing our breaker box, clearing trails, digging holes. It’s awesome.”

A group called the Haul of Justice, costumed superheroes on bicycles riding around doing spontaneous service work, had shown up at the Wood to being their month-long spontaneous service ride across Texas. After their ride, Stardust, Raccoon, Wild Yeast, and Infinity Man rode back to Austin and stuck around to do some volunteer work on various farms as well as enjoy the amazingness of Austin. They changed my definition of possible.

I wasn’t working outside the Wood. All the money and energy I was expending was going directly to the SHIRE project. I took the lead on organizing one of our biggest outreach projects was a booth at the Pecan Street Festival, one of Austin’s oldest and largest downtown festivals. With help, I sold vendor space, organized our booth and workshops, and handed out themed “Eco-Steve” cards with little paradigm-raising messages on them like “Eco-Steve knows where his water comes from” and “Eco-Steve bikes to work.”

 

 

 

Story of My Life – Part 8

The Road West

So in May of 2010, I made the choice. I quit my job after saving up several thousand dollars, again packed what I could fit in my Honda Accord (which wasn’t much), only this time including my partner, and two other friends Nova and Zandor whom I knew through the sustainable habitat program called the SHIRE, and drove to California to attend a sustainability festival. We never made it.

Instead we drove up the coast to Northern California, stopping along the way to visit friends and beautiful views.

Zandor, the original driving force behind the formation of the SHIRE, expressed his displeasure with the project and the direction it was heading, and voiced his need to separate himself from it. In my naïve enthusiasm, I offered to take on his duties and responsibilities as President of the Board of Directors. He agreed, and sent an email the following week to the rest of the Board.

My first project as President was building a composting toilet on a friend’s land in California. They were having trouble with their septic system. Our traveling crew offered to build them a composting toilet. The structure was about 2 meters tall, an elevated throne that dropped down into a pit, where the humanure would decompose for two years, when it could then be used as fertilizer. As long as sawdust (or rice hulls or corn husks or what have you) covered each deposit, there is no offending smell. I oversaw the ground leveled, the primary structure put up from scraps we found laying around the property, and finally the walls enclosed using waddle & cob, woven sticks with a mud and straw mixture. It was a beautiful building when we were finished. I felt so proud of myself, and grateful still to have people around me who were competent builders.

Instead of returning to Texas, I opted out of the broiling heat and thought my time would be better spent back East, gathering myself together and preparing for my responsibilities as President. I returned to Chestertown and spent the remainder of the summer there, repainting several rooms of the house and doing general maintenance around the property. With my new lenses and excitement about the possibilities of living sustainably, I appealed to the three owners at the time, my grandmother and her two sisters, about the value of the property and how it could be turned into a productive space, instead of a one month a year rental property. I was rejected and, heartbroken, returned to Texas.

On the way back to Texas I picked up my best friend Ross, who had just graduated Pratt Institute in Brooklyn. Fresh to freedom, we stopped in the Everglades, Florida, to visit our marine biologist friend Sara, who gave us a tour of the glades and the beaches. Our last stop before reaching Austin was two days in New Orleans, walking around the city and enjoying the delights of the South. At the end of September 2010, I was back in Austin and officially moved into the Hundred Acre Wood.

 

Story of My Life – Part 6

 

The Road South

I graduated in August 2009. I spent the last week and a half living out of my car, since my apartment lease ended before the graduation ceremony. Fortunately I spent the summer practicing Tai Chi, and was able to apply the calming effects of moving meditation on the otherwise stressful conclusion to my formal education career.

I moved to Austin, Texas within a month.

I packed my Honda Accord with everything I could fit, including my partner, and we drove South. And we drove South. And a little West. Making it to Texas was itself an accomplishment. Very little planning went beyond just getting there.

We were able to find a swanky apartment within a week, on the third floor of a brand new apartment building. With less than 20% occupancy, we were some of the only people in the building. The complex was located at a Metro stop, but the Metro train was several years behind schedule, and did not stop once during our 9 month lease.

My first job was as a community organizer. I spent 8 hours a day knocking on doors, gathering signatures, donations, and letters. I was terrified at first to talk to strangers in their own home, but by the third week, I was a pro. It became a joyous game to meet and talk to so many different people.

The campaign itself was focused on creating more responsible channels for e-waste – those old computers and tvs and printers filled with toxic metals and precious bits of elements that all end up seeping into our ground water when they’re thrown in landfills. I held that position for three months, until “I could donate money to you or buy presents for my kids for Christmas” overtook my ability to meet the nightly $150 standard, and I was let go.

Fortunately, I had been offered a job the previous week by one of the folks who signed my clipboard to cleanup the customer database of a telecom company. I proceeded to work in an office for six months, making good money but not developing the kind of skills I wanted to develop.

The saving grace was my weekends, which I would spend at a sustainable habitat outside the city. It was so clear being out there what I wanted to do (fulfilling work surrounded by nature and good people) and what I didn’t want to do (menial, meaningless work for a mediocre company).

It’s occurred to me at this point I’ve mentioned very little of my family. The whole story thus far has been a random assortment of events, without much emotional weight, that have just happened to me as my life floats along.

My parents both work for a pharmaseutical company, and I am wholly blessed to have both my biological parents still married, something I gather is quite a rarity in America these days. I have a younger brother in college, and a still younger sister who work for DirectTv in Frenso, CA. My mother’s side of the family I grew up visiting and vacationing with frequently, the only one I knew on my father’s side was one of his brothers, Uncle Jerry, who works as a librarian at Albany State University.

These are the people I share blood with, blood I learned recently goes all the way back to an ancestor who came over on the Mayflower. I guess exploring is in my blood. So is creativity, obstinance, rebellion, and (if I may be vain) beauty.

Story of my Life (Part 6) – The Road West

The Birth of Bright Sky

Though the experience renovated much of my inner landscape, the thing that has stuck with me most is my name.

One way of engaging the Ojibwe community was to participate in a sweat lodge – a traditional healing and purification ceremony where 20+ people sit in a tiny pitch black structure where water is poured over hot stones while the participants sing and chant. This was no sauna – the heat was uncomfortable and it was hard to breathe and at the end something came out. I fell out of the structure weeping, clutching the dirt and letting the earth absorb my tears. There had recently been a traumatic death in the family and I could feel all the tension and sadness flowing out of me, releasing itself from my muscles and cells and mind.

We had been asked to fast for the day preceding the lodge. That meant no food or water for 24 hours. After the lodge, each participant offered a handful of tobacco to our lodge leader, a Midewewin (medicine man) named Richard. He put it in his pipe, lit it, and waited. Each of us received a name, guide, and colors.

My colors were red, blue, and yellow. My animal was the deer. My name was wasogiizhig., which means ‘light of day.’ Or, Bright Sky.

The first time I actively used the name was to change my Facebook account. My pictures had been previously stolen when I was involved in a legal proceeding. I had been arresting streaking for the traditional year-end finals week run and been stopped unexpectedly by the police. I was acquitted after a six hour trial. The next year, I heard no one was arrested during the run.

Still, the experience made me wary of how indelicately my online information is protected. Bright Sky premiered on Facebook.

Story of My Life (Part 5) – The Road South

 

“College”

I attended Pennsylvania State University at the insistence of my parents. My plan involving community college (due to not having a clue what I wanted to do with my life), was inadaquete, and anyway I could start as an Undeclared. I finished my Bachelor’s degree in English in three years and graduated in the summer of August 2009.

The first two years were relatively uneventful. Heavy class load, good grades, and I discovered the unlikely bonding that came out of smoking herb, rather than the chaotic and dangerous ritual of nightly binge drinking.

My third and final year was the most adventurous by far.

In the fall, I spent a semester in Rome with ten other students. It was my first quasi-community living experience. We lived in the same hallway and shared a bathroom. Rome itself was provocative, ancient. I was in constant wonder at the contrast between the old and the new, in architecture, in relationships, in my own self to constantly evolve. Also having to cook for myself was a large life change.

In the summer semester I took a cultural studies course, which involved a month living in Bemidji, Minnesota, in the midst of three of the largest Indian reservations in North America, occupied by the Ojibwe tribe. The trip was completely transformative. Meeting with tribal leaders, both political and spiritual, learning about current conditions on many reservations, alcoholism, the struggle to retain their language, poverty, trash, contradiction at every turn, the guilt about my own ancestor’s/culture’s behavior, genocide, the resilience and kindness of people despite these enormous challenges, the embarrassment of giving a gift, how quickly a loving community may form, the deliciousness of the sugarbush, the wisdom and generosity and healing powers of the midewewin, the outlawing of sweat lodges even up until the 1990s… all these things I cannot tell in a linear fashion because this was my introduction to a world that was connected at many levels – above and below, and to each other.

It turned my hierarchy upside down; instead of seeing man as the most complex or highly evolved, lording over the plants and animals, they showed me a hierarchy of dependency where man depended on all things around him to survive, just as the animals depended on the plants, just as the plants depended on the earth, and it was the planet herself that deserved the utmost respect for sustaining all life.

Story of My Life (Part 4) – The Birth of Bright Sky

 

Early Life

I was, as previously stated, born and educated in the great state of Pennsylvania. Homeschooled in my former years, Mom took me and my younger brother William and my younger sister Kathryn on outings to science museums and historical sights, skating rinks and community parks, friends’ houses and 4-H. She let us set our own book work hours during the week, and encouraged us in whatever we wanted to do, as long as it was safe. My early education was dotted with achievements, such as a championship in a regional Future City competition, where we were asked to design every aspect of a future city, from energy to transportation to a building a city block model. At 12, I was running a multi-thousand dollar business selling beanie baby leashes, which saw my already extensive vocabulary grow to include words like ‘wholesale’ and ‘commission.’

Then the time came for me to re-enter the mainstream. With some prompting from a friend’s mom, I began 8^th grade at the local middle school.

My first day at public school I declared myself King Bob and walked backwards through the hallways. Shocked at the incapacity of the other students to play and humiliated that they found me so strange, I focused my attention on my unconscious, or rather, the surprising capacity to sleep in a desk. Marching band kept me engaged through high school, but mostly my creative energy was focused on a percussion group called United, an intense mostly college-age group that traveled the country performing and competing through complex musical narratives. The instructors were unforgiving, the music was mercilessly difficult and I cannot recall a time in my life where I was ever pushed harder, physically or mentally. I loved every moment.

I graduated high school a quarter early in 2006 under the pretense that I was going to march all summer in a drum corp. I never did.

Story of My Life (Part 3) – “College”